Month: September 2020

Late Summer Rain

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

Lightning comes late afternoon,
the quiet violence of forgotten religion.

She watches the sky cloud and
counts the seconds until thunder.

A summer storm,
the ignition of a flame or the
pulsation of an eye staring  intently
at a face looking away.

She walks barefoot on wet pavement,
runs through muddy fields,
and balances dragonflies on slick fingertips.

This afternoon ritual, a lover’s return,
lifts her head and fills her body.
She is fresh, alive, and new.

Every time she gives up, she can find
a new reason to try again,
even if it’s just for the late summer rain.

She closes her eyes and sucks in her breath.
Her counting ceases as the thunder comes.

“Late Summer Rain” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014) and Hazy Expressions (2008).

Resurrection

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

Wood, bone, steel,
are easier to bend
than the unseen.

At least this is how she felt.

No wall,
no gate,
no line marked clearly
in dead, brown dirt.

Yet the boundaries were
claimed long ago,
and the consequences,

outlined in the eyes
of fatherless children
and the creases
of blood caked knuckles
tightly weaving
wooden beads.

Our Father’s
whispered in remorse
can’t reclaim immaculacy
or breathe life
into aborted chest.

Inscribed doors
sway open,
attempting to reclaim
a wayward soul,

but persecuting eyes,
form unyielding barriers.

The reflection of
stained glass colored
her skin long ago.
The circling stations,
familiar faces murmur
Sunday morning’s story
of pink and pearl.

As a child,
she could recite all their songs.

“Resurrection” is previously published in the collection, my verse…, published by Swimming with Elephants Publications, LLC in 2012 and one of the editions of Adobe Walls.